


What does he do on there?

by Asauna



Series: Sherlock Drabbles [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Story Prompt, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asauna/pseuds/Asauna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnlock fic prompt>>> Sherlock leaves his laptop open after bolting to see Lestrade about a case. John comes home from work and sees that Sherlock had been reading something called "fanfiction" about the two of them. He is /very/ interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What does he do on there?

It had been a long day down at the clinic. Sometimes he loved the days, and sometimes, he hated them. Today had been mostly elderly patients and children who sneezed and mucked up his entire room. It was rather disgusting. But he’d been texted on his way home by Sherlock, who was apparently currently on his way to a triple-homicide up in Brentford. That meant he’d have the house to himself for a few hours. No screechy violin, no questionable experiments.. Just him and his tea. Oh, he loved the sound of that.

John was quick to hop inside and up to the flat, setting the kettle onto the stove and eying it as it slowly rose to the proper temperature, cutting off the heat before the pot could let out the heart-stopping whistle. Pouring the water and then letting his tea steep, he fetched himself something to eat out of the fridge, pleased that there were no bodily fluids or appendages in sight. This really was his lucky day.

With his snack in hand and tea in the other, he set off for his seat, already sipping from the hot mug that he seemed to favor over the others. Black, sleek and textured as opposed to the usual glazed look most glasses had to them. On his journey to the sitting room though, he noticed that Sherlock left his laptop open at the table in front of the couch. He rolled his eyes, figuring that the detective had left in too much of a hurry to notice, since that had happened on quite a few different occasions already. Sherlock was such a child sometimes.

He set the snack and tea down on the table, sitting down and going to turn off the laptop when he paused, seeing the web page Sherlock had left up. Usually the detective was researching the latest medical news or typing up his findings, but he had been looking at an odd website. Well, it was one John didn’t recognize as being a usual thing for Sherlock. “Archive.. Of our own?” He asked aloud, reading the URL to himself before looking down over the main screen, seeing that Sherlock had apparently looked up their names. But why?

As he looked more at the screen, his brows furrowed at seeing odd story synopses all down the page, listed with odd tags such as “Non-Con”, “Fluff”, “Smut”, “M-Preg” and a few other things. He didn’t really understand what he was looking at, or perhaps he didn’t want to as he hit one with about 8,000 words, wanting to merely.. Skim. Really, what could these people be writing about he and Sherlock? He looked over the tags for this one as the story loaded on his screen, still trying to figure out just what the hell was going on. “Dom!John”, “Dogtags”, “Riding Crop” and a few other things were listed with it. How’d they know about his dog tags?

As he read on, he began to feel numerous things. One, he felt offended that people thought he swore that much. Never did such lewd things come from his mouth, even when he was angry. Two, he felt uncomfortable. They were writing about he and Sherlock having far more than merely a platonic relationship. Oh, this went far past the obvious line of friendship, seeing as how in the writing, he was currently shoving the handle of the riding crop Fictional Sherlock had been hiding in the flat somewhere that should be left unmentioned.

But three, and most important, he rather enjoyed it. Oh, he would burn for all eternity and would be terribly embarrassed should he let anyone know he was rather amused by what he was reading. These people wrote it out as if they could see what would happen. They made John perform Asphyxiation with his dog tags upon Sherlock, used the crop in ways impossibly imagined, and made him say the most questionable things. But really, perhaps he enjoyed it because it was the notion of he and Sherlock together?

Oh god, what was he saying? .. No, he knew exactly that. It was just something he didn’t want to admit. To actually have feelings for the man who knew nothing of love or want or need for such things.. It was stupid. He knew that. But John couldn’t help it. When you were around someone so much and you became desensitized to their usual problems, everything became easier. Seemed he’d let it be too easy.

Shame that John wasn’t paying attention as footsteps made their way up the staircase, belonging to an annoyed Sherlock who had been led astray, since the case was already opened and closed. It was nothing more than a simple gardening accident- long story. But when he came to the door and found John seemingly lost whilst staring at his laptop, interest perked in the detective. He remembered what he’d left upon the screen, not thinking John would mess with it. But from the curiosity upon John’s features, the way he gravitated towards the screen and the new bump in the front of his trousers, it was an obvious indication that he was enjoying what he read.

The taller man calmly and quietly stepped over to John, who only noticed Sherlock beside the couch, glancing at the screen when he heard a low chuckle leave the back of Sherlock’s throat. He jumped, falling off the couch and scrambling for a pillow to hide himself, face as red as could be. “Sh-Sherlock! When’d you get home? Don’t rude s-sneak up on me like that!” He shouted at the other who just watched, lips tugged back lightly in amusement as he leaned back into the couch.

Sherlock didn’t say anything right away, listening to John babble on a moment before he finally turned and wandered off. He’d noted in the few lines that there had been mention of a riding crop. Before John even had the chance to relax and get up, he’d returned with such an item in hand, slung over his shoulder, peering down to the gaping man.

“My god, you’ve actually got one.” John breathed, stiffening faintly as he realized that meant Sherlock saw what he was reading. He was about to try and explain that it was a misunderstanding, but found that it was of no use, for Sherlock merely gestured for the doctor to follow as he turned, heading for his bedroom. “Come along, John. It’s time for an experiment,” he heard the other say.

John certainly wasted no time in scrambling off of the floor and following Sherlock quickly into the bedroom that was rarely ever used.


End file.
